


Pepper and chocolate with an ounce of Japanese flavours

by ScriptaManent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Chocolate, Gen, Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers Spoilers, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Here I am again with another fic about food, I really just wanted to write about Tendou in Paris, Paris (City), Post-Time Skip, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptaManent/pseuds/ScriptaManent
Summary: The bitter taste of raw cocoa filled the room; it would stick to his clothes long after he had gone home.An ode to chocolate, to Tendou Satori, and to his friendship with an athlete on the world stage – and also, just a little, a writer making fun of French people.
Relationships: Tendou Satori & Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Pepper and chocolate with an ounce of Japanese flavours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllHellBrokeLucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHellBrokeLucy/gifts).



> Hey, Vivi. Our conversation about food the other day inspired me, and so this happened. Heh, I’m just a simple French girl, after all.  
> It’s short, it’s self-indulgent, it’s a character study but, I thought about you and since it's your birthday, I decided to post it today. I hope you'll like it.  
> Happy birthday, Vivi, from France, with love ❤

Paris, the City of Light. It hadn’t taken that long for Tendou to get used to it.

The never stopping buzz of the traffic out of the workshop was now a lullaby to his ears, a background noise that helped his mind drift away and his creativity take over.

The bitter taste of raw cocoa filled the room; it would stick to his clothes long after he had gone home. People threw jokes to each other somewhere behind him, some in English, some in French, the intonations far from Tendou’s mother tongue.

There were moments he missed Japanese – in these times, he usually called Wakatoshi or Semi to get that nostalgic and warm feeling back inside of him – but he never missed Japan itself. After all, Tendou had brought Japan with him to France, or so he liked to claim.

His instinctive approach of life, the very same one that had made his opponents shake at the time he was still playing volleyball, was what had brought him so far, in every meaning of the word. He wasn’t afraid of trying out the boldest associations of tastes, some that people would never have dared to even think of, and this was exactly why he had been accepted in such a prestigious establishment. Even Amaury Guichon, famous for his delicate chocolate masterpieces, had recognized his talent, and Pierre Hermé, best pastry chef of the world, had been left speechless by the subtlety of Tendou’s palace.

Tendou was proud of this all, but even if people hadn’t liked his way of doing things, he still wouldn’t have changed anything. This was who he was, and he had never cared about what other people could think of him anyway. All he wanted was to have fun, and he was!

His pencil slid over the thick paper of his sketch book, lines adding to each other, and Tendou hummed absentmindedly. Someone approached him from behind – Mathieu, he guessed from the smell of bread dough and cocoa butter – and his colleague peered at his drawing over his shoulder.

Tendou usually discovered his new creations at the same time as the others. He let his body do the entire job, he worked on instinct, and so far it had never failed him.

“ _Are you making this for the Tokyo Olympics?_ ” Mathieu asked in heavily accented English.

Tendou had found out there were two types of French people: the ones who avoided using English like it was going to burn their tongues, and the ones who kept using it with foreigners even though they knew they could speak French. Mathieu obviously fell under the second category.

Tendou’s gaze slid back to his page and focused on the circular shapes that had appeared. Among a mess of incoherent doodles, one thing stood out. A familiar object that he hadn’t seen in person in years and that he had followed on TV every month. One that he knew best in yellow and blue and in red and green and white.

He traced the line with the tip of his index, graphite staining his skin and blurring on the paper, unaware of the thin grin that had spread on his lips.

“ _I’m thinking dark and bitter chocolate for the shell, something smooth and mirror, and maybe mushy hot pepper custard inside_ ,” he thought out loud in French, quickly sketching his idea on the next page. “ _And it’ll need some character. Texture. Grilled pepper seeds? Then I’d have to balance the custard… What about making it anko-flavoured…”_

He kept rambling to himself, and soon the workshop fell into quiet admiration. His colleagues knew not to disturb Tendou when his creativity struck, but they couldn’t help staring.

His notebook was filled with volleyballs when he went home on that day, and Tendou put it aside to turn on the TV. Wakatoshi was playing, and Tendou had never missed any of his best friend’s games.

The athlete was still on screen, in the background, when Tendou called him three hours later. He looked with satisfaction as his friend picked up the phone, and hearing the sound of his voice felt like they were having a real conversation, face to face.

“Nice game, Wakatoshi-kun!” the chocolatier sing-sang, staring at the impassible face of the other on the screen. “I can’t believe that guy managed to receive your spike!”

“It won’t happen again.”

A soft laugh escaped Tendou’s lips at his friend’s tone, so matter-of-factly, and he leant closer to the screen. He knew it was the truth, though. Wakatoshi was just like that.

“Anyway, there’s something I have to show you next time you come over! When’s your next week off? And actually, I think I had you in mind when I started sketching it.”

The other moved imperceptibly on screen, and Tendou’s smile turned into something smug. He knew when Wakatoshi’s curiosity was piqued, even though most people wouldn’t notice.

“I have several ideas for a new creation, so you’ll have to help me pick the best one. Maybe we could try some sponsoring as well? So, what do you say, meet me in Paris in two months?”

On the screen, the camera moved away from Wakatoshi, but not fast enough for Tendou to miss the other’s nod.

Tendou had a good feeling about this new chocolate. He wanted it to be something plain and yet bold; simple and powerful. He wanted it to be like his precious friend.

And maybe, if he felt like it, he could indeed use it to promote the Olympics.

It was months ahead, but no matter the time difference, on that day, Tendou would be in front of his TV, rooting for Japan – rooting for his best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> France may not have won as much as Argentina or Brazil, but we still got chocolatier Tendou and I think it's amazing.


End file.
